Destiny Hidden
by phyreblade
Summary: Camiel is mostly lost, striving to rediscover her own self. She relies on the helpmeet of a doctor she meets on Balmorra and somewhere along the way she manages to save a whole slew of worlds with her dual lightsabers. Follows the storyline of the Jedi Knight class created by Bioware, and kudos to them for the character and worlds imagined. F/JK with Doc and Theron Shan, rated M.
1. Chapter 1 -- My name is Camiel

**Please note. My Jedi Knight, Camiel Shorn, is a survivor of a traumatic assault at a very young age. For those of you who have difficulty considering such a sensitive topic, feel free to bypass this take on the Knight story. But if it helps, her story is one of rediscovery, of herself and her memories and her family so that such a painful event never managed to truly destroy her.**

**Also ... Some of you have read my other stories. The style of this work may be a bit different than you're used to, and I'm not sure it won't come off as too confusing. So I'm explaining upfront, before you even start reading. That this is a tale told through the prism that is the interaction and growing relationship Camiel shares with Doc. He's the one she turns to, in order to find her own lost memory. That means most chapters will include byplay between them that's set more in the "present", so that she's basically telling him her story and actually rediscovering it as they go along together. Those sections will be italicized, to avoid too much confusion.**

**Finally. Camiel is the "baby" of my Legacy. I see her as being cute and adorable, with plenty of foibles and endearing habits galore. If you're looking for a Knight who's stiffly noble, this isn't the girl for you to consider. Please enjoy getting to know my Camiel. I've loved her for ages, and I hope you like her, too.**

* * *

_Camiel only smiled. "I was very much afraid I'd forget my name, as well, actually." She stared towards the handsome doctor. Medical men invariably set her at ease, as if their mere presence was a soothing balm of some sort. She'd once joked towards Brye it had something to do with their habit of providing candies after every jabbing probe they made with a needle. Camiel had an extraordinary appreciation for sweet foods._

_But this man tantalized even more of her senses than her taste buds. Which was probably good, considering how awful his cooking was, enough Kira had taken to chasing him out of the mess every time he poked his head through the doors._

_Not that she could ask Kira about these other sensations, either. Cam frowned down towards her lap, sighing mournfully over the heat that gathered there whenever Doc glanced in her direction. And his teasing only made it worse, too! He'd wiggle a grin towards her whenever he tossed out some joke so that she felt like squirming right there in place._

_Whoever heard of a woman turned on by any old damn joke?  
_

_Or maybe it was Doc himself. His voice? That teasing twinkle in his eyes whenever he slanted her a look? The dark colors of his hair and eyes, or the way his body twisted whenever he moved about his work. That focused determination that marked his face whenever he set himself to a task … Whatever it was, though, no other fellow had managed to so neatly capture her attention. The one time she said something about how attractive he was to Kira, though, her friend only gagged with purest drama, utterly sickened. _

_The entire thing only confused Cam. She'd found herself in front of the mirror in her quarters, carefully examining her features for some sign she was half so beautiful as Doc continued to claim. She had always thought herself rather plain, anyway. She was no fiery redhead, like Kira. And her eyes were just as brown as any mud on one of the numerous worlds they visited. Nor was she so ephemeral as one of those prettier aristocrats in the high-up levels of Coruscant City, either._

_And that was part of the rub, too. Doc seemed as experienced with feminine attentions, as Camiel was clueless where men were concerned. Women seemed to follow him around, even chase after him given the chance. That's mostly what offended Kira about Doc, that he was so cavalier in his flirtations. If Cam didn't know better, she would assume Kira had yanked Doc aside and blistered his ears with warnings and dire threats._

_Okay, so maybe she didn't know better. Because Doc certainly hadn't seemed so inclined to support her in finding the broken ends of her memory and putting them back together again. He looked ready to bolt when she approached him, even. It'd very nearly induced her into running back out of the medical bay towards her quarters, just to verify she didn't stink from some kind of foul body odor. But Cam had resolutely stood her ground, and spoke her request of him. _

_And for whatever reason, no matter how upsetting he found her presence or whatever threats from Kira so terrified him, Doc agreed, leaned there against the wall right now with both his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her carefully enough. He murmured to her, "So you knew your memories were blocked, then?"_

_Cam nodded, "He only wanted to stop how much I was hurting. I'm not sure he truly comprehended what he was doing, even. He was only seven years old at the time, mind you."_

_"This would be that young Miraluka Jedi? What did you call him – Brye?"_

_Camiel smiled, "He's sixteen now."_

_Doc eased off the wall, standing straighter so that he looked more serious. More doctor-like. She wondered if it was something he was trying to affect. Like he was trying to keep her at some distance, maybe. But why, she frowned._

_"So we start there, then. When you fought just to remember your name. You were ten. And injured …"_

_"Dying. I was dying, Doc. Make no mistake, only Brye managed to reach me before I slipped away. It stunned all of them, partly why they've called him the strongest Jedi since Revan himself. Although they were watching him even before then, too."_

_Doc stilled as he looked back at her. Camiel felt the barriers he'd put in place, to keep her from truly judging his emotions using the Force. A technique she herself instructed for him, and one she suddenly regretted. Because now she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, as he stood there with his lips all pressed so tightly shut and his entire frame held so taut and straight. _

_Then he seemed to blink, as if he was consciously pulling himself from whatever thoughts were troubling him. He nodded slowly then, "Very well. You were dying. But you remembered, then?"_

_She frowned thoughtfully, "Partly. Bits and pieces. Like a recording that only came in broken streams. It was like … some of it, I didn't want to remember. Others I blocked, because … because … No, I still can't remember! I can't remember that!" She was becoming agitated again. It was patent enough, that Doc actually stepped close enough to cup her shoulders in both his palms. He held her softly, just letting her know she wasn't alone right then._

_"See? That's a good place to start, then." She smiled up at him tremulously, her fear and anxiety melting away. He breathed in slowly, drawing in her scent as he looked down at her. She could see the whiskers covering his upper lip trembling slightly. But she didn't recognize that feeling, either, and he didn't give her time enough to ponder it. Only stepped back once she was in a better frame of mind again. "Can't the Jedi who blocked your memories simply unblock them?"_

_Camiel shrugged, "Perhaps. But he will not even try."_

_Doc shot her a confused glance, "Why?"_

_"He says I'm not ready."_

_He sighed heavily, actually lifting his eyes towards the ceiling of the medical bay as if there could be some incredible answer from divinity itself. "More Jedi nonsense. That means we'll have to work harder, is all. So tell me about how you remembered your name, then …"_

* * *

"My name is Camiel." Even _she_ thought her voice sounded reedy and thin. As if the pain trembling through her little body couldn't help but find its way into the motions her vocal cords produced. Her lower lip quivered under the strain, so that she caught it carefully between her teeth. Because it was somehow important that no one really understand how much she hurt. The voices on the other end of the room went along working, so she knew none of them had heard her, though.

She repeated the words again, driven and desperately afraid. Because she was afraid of losing that much more of her own self. "I am … Camiel."

"That's a nice name. Camiel."

Camiel slowly twisted her head to the side, looking off from the table where they'd laid her so that the doctors could poke and prod against her terrible hurts. Her voice eventually became rough from the screams that tore loose from her throat as they worked. Now she lay there, like a broken doll who's strings were cut and ruined. She wasn't bleeding anymore, at least. But it didn't change anything.

She was all ruined. Even inside. Especially inside … So much ruined. And she rubbed her little fingers over the soft skin just below her small hip, there along the very top of her thigh. Her legs hurt so much, too, and she whimpered, her stomach knotting as her heart thumped slowly in her chest. That's when he spoke to her again.

"You're so sad. Why?"

She focused on him, actually turned her head against the flat surface of the medical table. She blinked back the shimmer of tears that darkened her eyes into slate there in her face just to see him better. He was … so little. Much smaller even than she was, and she'd not truly eaten a solid meal in so long she could even remember it. Just a little boy, with russet brown hair all tied up into intricate braids all over his tiny head. His head was canted sideways as he considered her. But he looked so strange, too. She whispered to him through her shattered voice, "What's wrong with your eyes?"

He smiled at her. As if the curiosity she felt, that replaced her sadness for even that brief moment of time pleased him. Like he knew the ebb and flow of her emotions, while she lay there gazing at him. He didn't seem to like the darker emotions beating at her, though. Not like that other one, the bigger man who'd thrown her away when he was finished, who'd seemed to enjoy every squeal of pain, every whimpered hurt she voiced. She was glad he wasn't there, that he was far away. Far away. Stay far away …

And the boy's smile disappeared as fear replaced the sweetness of her curiosity. He reached out a single little hand, softly touching her own fingers. Trying to distract her, to send the fear from her heart. "My eyes aren't like yours. That's why we cover them. Our sense of sight comes from the Force, not from anything of our bodies."

Camiel wriggled her fingers against his touch, clasping their hands together and whispering again. "My name … it's Camiel."

He nodded, holding her hand. "My name is Brye."

Pain twisted in her stomach again, those hot fiery stokes of pain driving once more into her awareness. Camiel felt new tears welling in her dark brown eyes, felt the slide of the moisture over her pale cheeks. Sliding down into the wash of black hair that streamed across the medical table. It hurt, everything hurt so much, and the brief wiggle she made with her hips to try and settle her small body into a more comfortable position only made it worse.

It burned! Her entire body felt like it was burning up, like it was on fire with pain and endless hurt!

Brye was looking towards her stomach, as if he could see the pain that twisted her small form into knots and agony. She wasn't entirely certain how she knew he was looking at her, though. Not when that part of his face was covered by the pale softness of a cloth blindfold, held in place by a thin band that encircled his head. But she knew he was giving her what amounted to a blinking stare, all the same. He whispered to her, "Someone hurt you."

Camiel whimpered, pushing back the flaring image that blazed in her memory for a single, devastating moment. A slender weapon, all sharp and pointed as it rose over her. It flashed every time it sang downwards towards her belly. Over and over, and it burned! And a horrible voice there in the background, a horrible voice, "_She's served her purpose. Get rid of her …_"

Her back arched, as she strained away from the memory. And the pain and hurt pulsed even harder there in her stomach. Brye's face tautened, his lips thinning into the most determined poise against the lower half of his face. He stepped closer to the table, his head dropping low until their foreheads very nearly touched. And he whispered again, "I'll not let it hurt."

From nearby there was a bustle of motion. Like softly-tooled boots rushed over the stone floor of the place where they'd carried her. All those faces that loomed over her for hours and days, one after another. They were always sad when they came to look down at her, eyes filled with tears in some instances. Anger in others. One was a soldier in a hard armored uniform, asking loud questions about justice. But most were medical men. She liked them, clung to them. Medical men were safe, they would fight for her, soothe her hurts.

Just like her da …

Camiel drifted softly, her gaze turning hazed and distant. Everything was going far away, even the voice calling out to her new friend. An oldster of some sort, hurried and frantic, "Brye! No, you're not ready! Not for so much as that …" But Camiel was sliding away and only Brye's scramble to tighten his fingers over hers kept her hand from falling limply onto the cushions lining the table. But he just whispered her name again.

"Camiel."

She was suddenly standing straight in some strange place all bright with light and energy, pulsing bright energy. There was no sound, no color. Such a strange place, all pulsing and strong and real. She only felt it all around her. There was nothing but her own self standing there. And there was the man in front of her, then. He stood so smartly straight there, so dignified and strong in his proud uniform.

Her dark-haired head fell backwards so that she could look up into his face. He was pale-skinned, his features strongly angular and handsome. He was so preciously familiar, although she couldn't have spoken his name. She only knew he'd always been the most handsome man, with skilled fingers that worked against hurting people just to fix the damage done them. She smiled at him now, "You'll make it stop. You won't let that bad man hurt me anymore."

His eyes became even darker, and he dropped down onto one knee in front of her. He reached out with one of his larger than life hands to cup her face into his palm. He looked far more sad even than she felt, "My smallest button. You still make everyone fit together, you know. Even so far away as you are now. They'll look for you, always."

Camiel reached out, gripping the tail ends of the seams on both sides of his uniform. Gripped them hard as if she'd lose him if she only let go for a moment. "It hurts so much. Please. Make it stop." She didn't understand why his deeply brown eyes turned wet. She knew he didn't cry, he never cried. Because he was strong enough to refuse such things.

"I know it hurts, button. It will stop very soon, the Jedi will make it stop. You can trust him." He lifted her up, until she rested gently on his upturned knee and he could wipe away the moisture that glistened on her cheeks with some small cloth he pulled from his pocket. "I'll be even more far away once he's done, you know. You won't be able to see … not any of us. Not for a very long time."

Camiel frowned, glancing to the side where everything was so dark, so strange. Like it was weightless. Black. Like a solid wall that blocked her from seeing anything past the edges of her understanding. It almost seemed a threatening thing, all looming and dangerous. But what did it hold back, if not something terrible? What if it failed and came tumbling down? What would happen then … No! _He_ must not see it, not anymore. It hurts him …!

Who is he, though? She couldn't remember. Only flashes of blue eyes, frantic calls of her name, scrambling, scrambling. Who _is_ he?

She turned back around to ask the man, who cried over every hurt she was feeling. But now it was Brye standing there, and she blinked at him through confused brown eyes. Standing face to face, they were nearly the same height even though the boy was so much younger. Camiel knew she shouldn't be so thin, that her scrawniness was aberrant. It was wrong. Like the hurt that still burned her belly. There was never enough food, anyway. Not in any of the pens, the cages they tucked her up inside.

Brye lowered his head, looking down her front. How was it he'd reached this strange, alien place? He was so little! He ached with sadness, until he seemed nearly to shake as they stood there together. Camiel carefully smoothed the pale gown they'd put on her down along her sides, trying to hide the damage from him. It didn't really fool him, she knew. But he didn't leave her there alone, either. He even reached out to hold her hand again, "Master Sihmon told me there are terrible men, who do terrible things. But it still hurts to see it for myself."

Camiel felt pulled, like there was a thread there in the center of her own self. She could almost see it, even. Leading somewhere far off and away from all of it, where nothing hurt anymore. The temptation to follow the pull was so much harder suddenly. But Brye's hold on her hand was just warm, just … real. She settled herself softly there in front of him, closed her eyes. "It doesn't hurt so much when you hold me."

"I know."

"My name is Camiel." Because the last understanding was drifting away so gently. All of it leaving to hide behind that same dark wall that hid him from her. Where _he_ couldn't be hurt anymore, she wondered softly. But who is he?

They were all going far from her.

"Will they find me, Brye?"

"When it's time, maybe."

"When will that be?"

"When you need them again."

Camiel opened her eyes. Brye was glowing brightly gold, a shimmering thing that shined brighter and brighter in her gaze until all she could see was his face. Only his face, with the cloth that covered where his eyes should be and everything else around them brilliant white and gold, and her belly warmer and warmer. Moisture dotted his brow, and the braids of his hair trembled slightly. But he didn't let her go, he didn't let go. So she stayed.

He made the hurting stop, until everything was quieted away behind that dark veil and only the two of them were left. Two tiny children, clinging to each other to keep the blackest things, the most ugly of men from reaching them.

"I'm Camiel Shorn."

"I'm Brye Ell."

"I won't forget my name, will I?"

"No. Not that."

* * *

_**The Jedi Knight class story is included in "Star Wars: The Old Republic" by Bioware and Electronic Arts. All characters and story are their property, and I make no claim to the original class story they told. They did a phenomenal job, and I am grateful I was allowed the chance to experience it! Kudos, Bioware! You have my most unending gratitude for a wonderful story!**_


	2. Chapter 2 -- The Sith

_"Tell me about your mother."_

_Camiel looked across the bay from where she reclined against the solid backing of a stiff chair. She truly needed to revise the comfort of the seating arrangements in the medical bay, she thought offhandedly. If only so she never again had to feel the prodding hardness there in the center of her back. For now, Camiel dropped her head sideways as she pondered the fractured memories that flitted through her mind, frowning. "I can't … she was …"_

_Doc shook his head, "Don't try forcing the memory. Only relax, focus on what you're feeling when you consider the idea, the concept. Everyone has a mother, everyone has a beginning. So tell me."_

_Camiel poked the surface of the chair with a single finger, "Why haven't you told me how uncomfortable the chairs are down here? I might have upgraded them."_

_Doc chuckled, "Is this your way of telling me your ass is sore? Or did you just want me looking in that direction. Darling, if you wanted me to consider that delightful part of your anatomy, you only had to ask." He did laugh aloud when Camiel actually bent sideways so she could consider the bend of her rear end from where she was sitting, looking so beautifully innocent as she tried to appreciate what he meant by "delightful" when he described her butt. That perfect little moue she made with her mouth assured him she still didn't realize how appealing she really was, especially when she looked back at him with her brows twisted into yet another confused expression. _Careful, Doc, you're falling too fast, as fucking usual. And definitely too hard_, he thought quietly._

_"I'm not sore. It's only hard to concentrate on anything else, sitting here in this chair." Camiel tapped her fingers against the side of the chair, still trying to make some sense of the darkness shielding her mind from the people who'd made her. Why hide such understandings from her own self, what reason was there for the darkness? It was protective, a shield of some kind. There was much of her own making in the thing, much of Brye's, too. But why? Why be afraid of knowing such a thing as her own mother … ? "It frightens me."_

_Doc's eyebrow winged high over his dark eyes, "The chair?"_

_Camiel chuckled softly, "No. Not the chair, of course."_

_He sighed, stepped closer to where she was sitting. He kneeled down, lifted the hand she was using to tap against the side of the chair. He pulled her back, used his physical touch to soothe her. Softly rubbed his thumb along the fleshy part of her hand, "Just tell me, Cam. I'm right here." And his presence was just enough._

* * *

Camiel giggled. But she quickly covered her mouth with both her little hands, trying to stem the happy sounds. She only huddled even further back under the plump cushions of the sitting chair, peeking out enough to see her mother tapping a slender finger against the puckered curve of her lips. Camiel's giggles became muffled things, bent back under the force of her baby small fingers.

Mamae didn't look over towards her, though. Instead, she glanced at the ceiling overhead and pondered aloud, "Where could she be, hmm? How could I have lost her, and now of all times. Why … her Da's returned from his most recent voyage. Surely Camiel would want to see him."

Camiel very nearly gave up the game, then. If only to look out from her hiding spot far enough to find her wonderful Da, and why was he so far away so much of the time? Not like Mamae, who stayed close always. Da was a great hero, rather. He was the one who made them all stronger, made them better. He was like the guardians in Mamae's stories, the ones who flew through the sky with their very own wings! Camiel wished she had wings, too.

Pretty wings, all precious on her back. Wings that would lift her off the ground so she could swing through the air just like all the rain droplets. So fast none of the rain would land on her face, or her clothes, and no one would be able to tease her for being all wet with mudwater. No mudwater would be even be able to touch her, she'd go so high!

Maybe up there she'd find the sun. All tucked up behind the dark skies and gray, puffy clouds. Camiel knew what a sun was, after her Da showed her pictures on the holoterminal, showed her far-off places that he'd visited on his ship. Some worlds had more than one sun, even! Bright, shining balls, like the ones she played with until Mamae yelled out how much damage she'd cause by tossing the things about.

Camiel would fly high enough to find the sun someday, she promised. But then her head bumped up against the yawning ceiling far above the sitting area, far over the bright red cushions on the chair and the long stretch of plush brown carpet underneath it. Bumped hard enough that Camiel felt sudden fearful distress, looked down to see the floor so far away beneath her. Mamae shrieked loudly, cried out her name, "Camiel! No, don't do that!" And Camiel whimpered, just one time, before she started falling, falling and the floor below was coming up fast at her and she was so scared and she cried.

But her mother's arms plucked her from right there in the middle of the air itself, reached out and grabbed at her and pulled her close. Until she was all nestled against the warm expanse of Mamae's gasping chest and Mamae was whispering soft sounds from the top of Camiel's head as she rubbed her chin across the strands of Camiel's dark, dark hair. "Hush. Only hush. I've got you this time … I've got you."

Then her Mamae sat down on the very edge of the sitting chair and she perched Camiel there on tips of her bent knees. Mamae leaned forward, lowering herself only a bit until her nose only almost bumped against the curve of Camiel's own. And her eyes glittered strongly, all blue and flashing and Camiel knew she'd angered Mamae. Badly.

"You must never do such things, Camiel. Do you hear me?" Mamae shook her head with stern gruffness, her voice husky from fright and bother. "Don't ever! If someone sees, they'll come to take you far away. You'll belong to them and they will take you, change you! Do not ever! You'll lose everything, all of us - if they know what you are!"

Camiel's world broke apart, all of it growing dark and frightening suddenly. Some risk, something frightening and scary looming there suddenly. She didn't know who they were, only that they scared her mother. They couldn't be beaten, couldn't be guarded against. They could only be deceived, lied to and tricked. It all came down to hiding from them. Hiding everything she was, even.

That was how she first knew the Sith.


	3. Chapter 3 -- Justice Not Done

_It burned hot, the lacerated skin against the side of the wound there on her side. Camiel tried ignoring it when the chance injury occurred. But you didn't disregard any tear in your coverings on Quesh, even more when your skin itself was penetrated. Too many toxins, dangerous chemicals – all of it thick in the air and soil and water all around them._

_"How did you manage letting a blasted miner hit you with one of those skivvy tools of his, huh? Of all the blasted stupid things to do, to let happen … Think a Jedi would have more sense, anyway. You know, enough at least to know when to duck." _

_Camiel did manage to ignore Doc's rumbling discontent, at least. Cam was actually rather proud of herself, that she didn't even arch the tiniest smile in his direction. She just laid herself back against the barest padding on the medical table in the Republic base, stayed still and quiet as she settled her mind, drifted through a meditative haze._

_"Yea, just leave me to do all the work, half carry you back here. And what is it with this damn base, by the way. You'd think the Republic could manage a tad better base, with niftier equipment and a nicer cushion on the stupid table. We've got better on the Honor, at least …"_

_Doc was busily unbuckling the armor pieces that covered her torso, didn't even stop long enough in his diatribe to get her free of the plates so that he could finally discern the extent of the injury. _

_Camiel might have assured him, the pain wasn't great enough to indicate anything close to lethal a cut. Nothing more than a glancing touch from a miner's vibro-saw, before the poor fellow jerked himself back to keep from truly harming her. If not for the gases so prevalent in the atmosphere of the entire planet, Camiel would've only assured the apologetic mine worker and then gone along to complete the task that brought them to the world._

_"But the Honor isn't actually a Republic vessel, is it? Your own little pocket of Jedi sanity, rather. They keep it well stocked, at least. Better than this backwater outpost on this utterly crappy planet. I think the plants are in revolt, and that's why they stink so damn much. It's a defense mechanism! That, and …"_

_Doc's voice suddenly stopped, until only the steady beeping and trilling from the nearby terminals kept the entire space from being pin-drop silent. Camiel slowly opened her dark eyes, not moving. If only to keep from startling the medical doctor working over her, make the minor wound on her side any worse than it was already when he slipped. But Doc was frowning down at her abdomen, rather, his hands frozen over the place where she'd been hurt. Then he sighed, and one of his fingers softly stroked along one of those other lines._

_The ones Camiel didn't like to look at, that everyone looked at the way Doc was looking now. Like she was still that broken, shattered girl left bleeding and ruined and no one of them could see anything else but the marks stabbed into her skin and what they meant. That's why her voice was suddenly gruffer than it normally was, as she fought the telling urge to jerk her shirt back down to cover her stomach again. Fought to keep from crying, even. "The injury is on my side, rather. That doesn't hurt."_

_Doc's gaze flashed back up, so that his dark, dark eyes were narrowed on her own and his pursed lips flew open as he started to say something. She waited for him to say it, even. Say how sorry for her that he was, how sad it was she'd been so terribly hurt. Camiel just waited, looking up at him, her brown eyes full and … numb. Like the roughest stone clumped with mud back in the ground of her homeworld, even if she didn't remember the place. _

_And that thought brought Doc up short. So much abruptly he very nearly bit off the tip of his own damn tongue. He jerked his head backwards, looking skyward as if he were praying. But only for patience enough to say the words right. Just to keep from being someone else she needed to forgive. Because how many people could one person forgive, really? _

_At least before they totally gave up on the lot of the human race, Doc thought. So he grumbled a near song, he fought so hard to keep the words correct. "But, darling. This here scar, this one …" Doc slowly edged a thumb over the mark, the line thick and dark there on her stomach. Where the blade had pierced so deep, where the blood had run so thick and terrible. Only so damn long ago, though. Doc's voice softened, "This scar is just pretty, like the rest of you. It's even your favorite color! Just so much pink and healthy, practically shouting how nothing managed to ever really beat you. I happen to like it quite a bit, mind you."_

_Camiel blinked up at him, her eyes wide and surprised. She chanted silently to herself, reminded herself there was no reason to cry. But she reached down to touch his hand, to stroke her fingers along his own where they rested quietly over her scarred stomach. "Thank you, Doc."_

_"Just speaking true, my pretty little Jedi. Always, mind you. Trust me."_

* * *

Master Sihmon laid his hands oh so gently over the curve of each one of Camiel's shoulders, holding her protectively just in front of him. Assuring her all over again. Because she wasn't alone, not even right then, when the Duke of House Organa stared down at her so sadly.

Camiel squirmed ever so slightly under that scrutiny. Everyone looked at her the way the Duke looked, like she was some pitiful thing. They all felt so much sympathy, so much sorrow in their eyes when they looked at her. She hated it. It made her want to wiggle unhappily, fidget with embarrassment. As if she was somehow sad, or failed. Like a thing you tried making but cracked after you tossed it on the floor, and all you ever saw afterwards was the crack. Not the pretty colors or beautiful shape, not anymore. The only saw the broken-ness when they looked at her. All of them.

One of the Duke's more prissy advisors suddenly chirped angrily, waving a book of all things through the air, "My lord Organa, there will most likely be a _need_, here. You can not allow that actually both those witnesses of such a horrid crime would leave Alderaan. Perhaps in time …" The over-thin man in his fancy robes sounded so much like a bird with some nut or hard thing stuck in its scrawny throat, that Camiel very nearly smiled at him in purest humor. Except he was so adamant and determined that she stay here, all alone, all by herself. _No, no, no_, Camiel kept thinking, and the sheerest panic burbled in her still horribly thin stomach. She softly leaned backwards, until her slender back pressed into Master Sihmon's knees and his hands on her shoulders tightened gently.

The Organa Duke shook his head, though. "You and I both know, no one will accept the accounts. One from a girl who's memory was broken, through the trauma of the crime. And the other, merely watching it through that prism which was once her memory. He hardly saw it personally. And that is something we should be glad for, rather. I will not be party to further damaging the minds of these young people – especially those of such remarkable potential." The Duke – Master Sihmon told her his name was Charle Organa, like the palace they were standing in right now—the Duke lowered himself down to a single knee, gazing into Camiel's brown eyes for a long, heady moment. Around them, all the gathered people … they all watched, all of them. The doctors, the soldiers in their hard, shiny armors, the fancy aristocrats with their stylized motions and legal maneuverings, all of them watched.

It seemed to Camiel, that men like the Duke weren't really _allowed_ to be alone. There were always endless parades of important persons, just following along with them, always watching, always arguing. The bookish man arguing that she be kept there on Alderaan actually spluttered, there behind the Duke. But he did bite back whatever disagreement he wanted to interject right then. The Duke had decided, it seemed. Duke Organa ignored the man's muttered sounds from behind him, even. He only watched Camiel, his eyes richly mournful, "I would have met you under far better circumstances, youngling. Not like this. This is not how I would have desired you discover my home, my world."

Camiel frowned, turning her gaze sideways towards Brye, holding his hand harder as she leaned back against Master Sihmon even more. She sank into that sense of safety, the heady feeling of belonging, that she was no longer by herself, that others would defend her, fight for her. Camiel had a place, now. And something told her she needed it desperately, that it was denied her for a long time and she needed to be prepared to fight for it, now. That fear was slowly falling away with every squeeze that Master Sihmon made to her shoulders. It was what Master Sihmon told her, that no one of the men in this ostentatious building, no matter how pretty their clothes looked, would really be able to change where Camiel would go and who would care for her, after. "_This is little more than a statement, a final declaration. We will tell them, is all_," Master Sihmon patted Camiel so gently along the back of her little head as they went through the yawning doors into the Organa Palace. She _would_ be a Jedi, Sihmon told her.

_Just like Brye_, Cam thought. The two children had stayed close in the days Camiel took to heal. Brye told her of the Jedi, the world where they gathered together, the Masters and their padawans and everything she asked him, and Camiel wanted _that_. A place, far from scary dreams and monsters in the darkest shadows. Where she'd be safe.

Camiel shivered, jumping slightly when the fancy man with all his rules and procedures suddenly squawked loudly into the stillness, there, "My lord, please!" The Duke straightened up to stand again, listening as the agitated man argued vehemently, "Without the girl, any chance at finding the perpetrator of such a monstrous crime becomes even more unlikely. That she's no native of Alderaan goes without saying, mind you. But the lowborn spaceport worker who brought her to the healers disappeared in the immediacy of her treatments, so that we only know she came from an off-world ship. Which one, though?"

The Duke shook his head yet again. Camiel wondered how common the motion was, when important men spoke in public. They seemed to nod and shake their heads quite a bit and looked thoughtful constantly. Maybe it was an effected look, something they did to put people at ease. Or maybe they only wanted people to believe they were really considering, even when they'd already decided. Duke Organa himself seemed strongly certain, at least, "The only reason to be sad for that, is that whatever monster did harm this child he'll escape our righteous denouncement and whatever justice we might have offered the girl. It will not be done, not today. And for _that_ I am sorry." Duke Organa lifted his hand when the man tried spouting yet more legalities the Duke was already well aware of, "Enough! She has suffered enough, they both have! The boy saw the crime through her memory, if Jedi Master Sihmon is correct and I have far more respect for the Jedi than to doubt him. No, I will not allow these children to be any further traumatized. Let them alone, to heal. To learn what it is to be children, maybe. Far from this place and these terrible hurts."

Murmurs rose among the people gathered there in the hall, lifting up towards the brightly gold and cream-colored ceiling over their heads. Several men tapped furiously onto the datapads they were holding, recording the final judgment the Duke asserted so determinedly, so strongly. But the Duke noted none of them, paid none of them any mind. He only watched, waited as Camiel slowly, slowly relaxed, her little shoulders easing into a more comfortable curve and the smallest curl of her lips showed the sigh that slipped loose from her mouth. She looked up, over her shoulder towards Master Sihmon, whose grayed head dropped down so that he could whisper slightly into her ear, "Peace now, youngling. As I said, there's nothing to fear." And Brye leaned his shoulder even more strongly into Camiel's own, until both children looked like a solid unit, like they were connected side by side.

The Duke lifted his hand, waving slightly, "Jedi Master Sihmon, the girl will have a home on Tython, then. You can assure us of her safety, yes?"

Master Sihmon's chin slanted upwards as he nodded, "Her aptitude in the Force is certain. She will be trained, as befits such a youngling and will eventually take her place in the Jedi Order. I will accompany her for some time to come, I would think." Sihmon pursed his lips, rather than describe the interest the Council had already shown. Not only in Camiel's strength and resilience, in the sheerest fact she'd survived such a travail, and in the bonds she'd formed through the Force itself, obvious to anyone with ability enough to discern. Camiel's potential was a vibrant thing, the promise in her spirit a blazing force in and of itself. Sihmon could almost feel it - it was so much a heady thing, burning and reaching with fiery intention.

But then there was Brye, too. That he was a hybrid Miraluka only seemed to make him even more exceptional. His father's utter denial of the boy hadn't held him back, or made him less. No, Brye only showed them a level of healing power unmatched by any Jedi they recognized, capable of reaching out to keep a girl on the very cusp of death itself from slipping loose at the last possible moment. He'd held onto her, held tight. And they hadn't lost either one of the younglings! It was incredible, the Council insisted. Brye only told Sihmon simply as he woke slowly from the healing trance, "I didn't like how much she was hurting, master. I'm sorry for scaring you." So Sihmon reached out to the Council for guidance and support, and the Jedi's best, their brightest leaders and teachers insisted the children be safe on Tython. Sihmon assured them, "The Force has brought them together, with strength and capability unmatched that I have seen. They need safety, to grow and learn. And guidance."

Now, these last motions. As the world of Alderaan tried to accept justice undone, to know that terrible harm might be done and go unpunished, even unknown. That somewhere on their world was a monster, hiding like a putrid thing. It's why Duke Charle Organa finally smiled, only so sadly, "I am grateful her future is brighter than whatever path has brought her here. And she goes with my best hopes. That that future is as much pleasing, as her journey here was painful. When next she's on Alderaan, I hope she can look at me as a friend. Rather than someone else to fear. Goodbye, young Jedi."

* * *

**Sometimes I want to be so blunt and only just tell you the entire story in one swooping mess of words and phrases. But then I remind myself that's not the way it happens, sigh. It's little bits and pieces at a time, sorry. Bear in mind, here in this brief consideration of memory describing Camiel's experince she no longer remembers. Her fears are based on vague uncertainty, doubts and fears she can't truly wrap her young mind around. But her dealings with Doc are stronger, more certain - because she's grown past those old anxieties. She's finally growing up enough to face her fears, in fact.**


	4. Chapter 4 -- Snow and Ice

**When we're talking the Force, not everything's a flashback. Tricky things, dreams. At least when the dreamer is a Jedi.  
**

* * *

_"Camiel …"_

_The world was covered with flurries of snow, still and silent against the sullen gray of sky overhead. A storm, Camiel thought. There was a storm approaching, and they would need to find shelter for protection and security. She glanced sideways, saw that Doc was aside her, crouching low as if to shield her from … What was that sound? The blare of wind and snow and the whine of some missile, it sounded like._

_Camiel looked up over her head, saw the shimmer and glint of the Force barrier she had created over them. Protection from an attack, obviously. But where was the attack coming from, who was making it … ? And someone was hurt. Someone special, Camiel knew._

_She stepped out, moving slowly as such dreams so often moved. As if the world itself was frozen in place just so that she might see. Because the future was obvious in ways her own past never was, thrown as wide as the past was dark and silent behind her. Camiel had once supposed to Brye, that it was nothing more than the balance the Force itself seemed intent on, always. And that was why she endured such dreams, is all._

_So now she moved, moved past the barrier and stepped out over the crunch of snow on her seemingly bare feet. That's how soft her dream steps were, how she went padding over the snow without disturbing a single flake. But when Camiel looked down, her feet were covered in sturdy white boots, with grayed buckles and armored plates over her calves. And her breaths were small huffs from behind a cloth-covering over her mouth._

_But she needed to see, to see them. To know. There was someone … someone was hurting. Camiel knew, felt that the blow went low and deep against the woman's back. A cry that rose up into the heady presence that was the Force, there in the dream. Crying out a name, then a plaintive call of her own name. And pain, so much pain. Not the wound, not the injury. But the woman's spirit wept, a long and old scar over her emotions, her mind skittering and pained for so long a time. Camiel heard her crying. Her woman's voice, crying out to her, "I failed you both! Camiel … I'm sorry! Gaibriel, I failed!"_

_That's when she saw them. It was a man, lean-framed and covered in hard, hard plates of Mandalorian iron. His helmeted face was bent upwards as he gestured them away, to go away - before they're here! The Imperials are coming! Go now! The man bent over, shielding the smaller form of the woman beneath him. He was frantic, moved quickly to find where she was injured. Blood. The woman's blood was on the snow. But she didn't move, she only lay there in the man's arms quiet and still. Wearing the same kind of hard iron plates, her head all covered up the same way. Mandalorians. They were Mandalorians. Why would Mandalorians try protecting a Jedi from the Empire's soldiers?_

_"I'm sorry, Camiel. Sorry." Who was she, Camiel wondered._

_Then the white snowy world was gone. It was all gone, disappeared. Camiel turned, breathing softly in that calming rhythm she'd learned over so many days of meditating side by side the Order's masters. Settling herself into the pulse and rhyme of the Force, until it moved through her as much as she stood within it. It was a place. Even if there was no real substance to it, nothing she might have called something. All brightness and light and energy. There was depth, but no shape. No color or sound. Camiel sank slowly down, until she kneeled there on her knees and her dark head was bent forward as she concentrated only on her own breaths._

_It was the Force, and she lowered herself into it like it was a pool of warmth and comfort._

_"Camiel."_

_She raised her head to look at him, and she smiled. He was only there, right there in front of her. And she knew him, even if she didn't know what to call him. Because he was always there, when she found this place. But this time, he smiled back – his dark brown eyes all warm, strong, like the Force itself that surrounded them both, and his black hair was cropped short against the nape of his neck - and he assured her in a firm voice that made his Imperial accent obvious enough. He told her, "They've never stopped looking, Camiel."_

* * *

He smirked over at Camiel as she stumbled across the threshold into the bay he'd made his own, almost tripping over … she looked back at the open doorway to see what might have caught her foot to send her in such an ungainly-seeming trot into the room. But there was nothing, no edge or other protrusion, not even the smallest blip in the flat surface of the floor that could have made for her to lose her balance. _Of course_ there was nothing there!

Camiel puffed the smallest breath, almost a laugh as she playfully trotted back over the floor. Back and forth, as if daring the floor to catch her foot again. Like a child playing "crack" with the ground, maybe. Like these even smallest disasters might become a game, something to laugh over if only given the chance. Except that Camiel ended up looking more like the most beautiful creature, gliding in a seamless dance across the floor's surface and framed like a fantastic piece of artwork by the outline of the door, Doc thought as he watched her. The light from the main bay outside his medical rooms highlighted her curves, made her black braids gleam as darkly as the most sable expanse of space outside. And Doc felt the catch of his breath, the pull of desire and want that gathered in the pit of his stomach yet again. He'd never wanted anything so much, as the elfin female who unerringly found delight at every chance, in every motion.

But aloud, he only laughed. He was too frightened, as usual. Because wanting and having and keeping were all very, very different things, and crossing each line into the next was terrifying enough he skidded away like a damn pansy rather than the hero he wanted to be. He stuck with laughing, and flirting and joking around. Because that was safer, really. So he laughed, "I figure the floor's looking to kiss you straight on those most delicious-looking lips of yours, honey. It has to try catching you by surprise, is all. Only your truest Jedi magic keeps you from falling prey to the floor's more salacious desires." Camiel smirked over at him, her dark eyes gleaming with humor as she spun in circles and watched him.

"And here I thought my lips were too fat and wide, rather. I may have to reconsider the floor's sense of taste, rather."

Doc stumbled backwards with purest drama, throwing a hand over his heart as if utterly shocked and gasping so loudly the sound actually echoed slightly in the brief confines of the medical room. Camiel barked a small laugh watching his antics, reaching up with both hands to cover her mouth to keep from really giggling. Doc moaned out, "I do believe you're telling me that my own taste in women's lips is somehow as flat and uninteresting as a floor's … I'm really hurt, here! How could you … !"

Camiel wrinkled her nose. "So you are, in fact … a floor."

"Well." Doc smirked hard, leaning forward slightly as his own brown eyes narrowed in the most playful humor he could manage right then. Then he pounced, reaching out to grip her waist and join her in spinning across the floor. Gliding in circles, holding her as they danced to some silent music neither one of them could hear. Camiel tossed her head back, laughing aloud as Doc held her safe from tumbling in a clumsy heap onto the floor and kept them both moving in the sweetest rotations around the room. Doc murmured huskily, "I'm definitely better looking than the floor, at least. Can we agree on that much?"

Camiel straightened as the pair of them slowly meandered in lazy circles. She examined Doc's face, slid her chocolate gaze over his features - the straight line of his nose and strong cut of his brow, the curl of his lips as he smiled slowly through her perusal, and the twitch of his thick facial hair when his upper lip rose into his smile. He seemed to smile so much, so often. He would laugh, his dark head bent backwards to let the sounds of his humor rise up above them all until you couldn't help but join in with whatever fun he was making. She liked the way he made her feel, Camiel thought. So now she smiled back, "If it helps. I wouldn't want to bruise your tender feelings."

Doc huffed. "I may have to prove myself. Perhaps purchase some finer cuts to my jackets. Or my pants! You must consider the shape of my pants across my …" Camiel gasped lightly as she softly slapped the palm of her hand over his mouth. He chuckled then, and the muffled sound of his amusement tickled Camiel's hand so that she couldn't help but laugh again. Doc reached up to pull her hand away from his mouth, held onto her as they walked closer to the table where Doc's latest tests and results were splayed in his typically unkempt and haphazard mess of _stuff_. "Since you'd rather not discuss my finer attributes then ... What's the matter, Cam?"

And Camiel sighed, looking down at the table, with its blinking instruments and datapads galore. Doc leaned closer to her, bent forward slightly in the softest encouragement that she return her attention to him rather than study the table and fidget in place. He smiled and she smiled back before she could catch herself. Then she whispered to him, staring into his dark brown eyes with her own growing murky and darker still, "I had another dream, Doc …"


	5. Chapter 5 -- Balance

_"Balance."_

_"I can't recall what happened, that I have such a hard time finding my own balance. I will find the smallest slips along the smoothest floors. The most minor step down from a low spot that has me stumbling, even! If there is a stone anywhere along the path that a person can trip over, I will discover where it's lying. The single crack in a piece of walk way? I will be the one who trips over it."_

_"They told me that I must have suffered a blow to the head when I was young, although I don't remember it. Whatever it was, it never healed appropriately, I suppose. Or at least some of the tissues in my ear canal didn't recover properly, rather. Just flashes of dizziness or vertigo, and then I have the hardest time just staying upright. And no, there is no real reason at this point to try and repair it, Doc. Even if it were possible – and your skill is such it very well may be – but I've grown accustomed to the issue and learned to make it part of my own self."_

_"Everything is a question of balance, you see. Seeking it, finding it – perhaps I never will, but I need to take that path, find my own way. Master Sihmon was the one who showed me. He showed me Tython. He would traverse its fields, its streams. And I would follow him, skipping and tripping behind him most often. He enjoyed finding plants and new animals on the world, taught me the Force was in all of it, in everything. Master Sihmon would catch me before I could fall, hummed songs that kept me dancing and he helped me find peace. That was my place on Tython, was seeking what it meant to find the Force. Until I was immersed in it and a part of it, and I knew exactly how much it was already a part of me. It's when I seek the Force, that I most easily find my balance. Until I nearly fly over the field, my sabers twirling around me like the most incredible dance. It was Tython, that helped me find balance. Because Tython teaches us more of balance, than any other world could."_

_"The Jedi once believed, that our ability to wield the Force itself was only a manifestation of that balance we found, there. On Tython, I mean. That if we left the world, our own abilities would be left there, too. But we were wrong, and that's when the Order made its first Knights and they extended out past Tython's surface. Although there are no one of us that can claim true heritage with Tython, either. The first called themselves Je'daii and they were brought to Tython from many other systems and worlds, eight ships of the Tho Yur. Their arrival heralded an intense storm on the surface of the world, as any real imbalance of the Force is capable of making on Tython."_

_"Its two moons – Ashla and Bogan – they mirror the delicate nature of the Force itself, how precious it is to seek out and maintain the balance that keeps Tython verdant and stable. The world always reacts to any imbalance, any one particularly strong in either the light or the dark side. Storms and quakes can come of any kind of powerful presence, any intention of the Force – as if the planet itself senses the truest balance."_

_"They call me a hero, because I fought to preserve the balance on Tython. When I saw what would come, the damage and the pain that came from someone losing themselves to the Dark, when I sought a path to saving him. But all that I did, was to save my home. Peace in everything, Master Sihmon told me. Because the Force is in all of us, in everything around us. Tython only shows us, teaches us, that we must find balance in ourselves else lose our world wholly. He used the world itself to show me what it was to be Jedi. And then I fought to save it."_

_"Tython is where I played games with Brye, where I hid from him while he chased after me. It's where we whistled and sang to the sky overhead, mimicking the birds and other beasts that we observed moving nearby."_

_"It's where I first held a training blade and learned how to move my body through the dance, the rhythm of the Force itself that pushes and pulls inside of me. I can feel it there, like my beating heart that moves blood through my body. Where it's part of me."_

_"Tython is where I learned what it means to be free."_


End file.
